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Beyond The Window

I stayed there near the glass. I sat on the window seat. It was a simple cushioned shelf just beneath the frame of the window. I t was always my favorite seat. But it seemed to not matter all that much any more.  It was simple place, and became my place to sit for the years passed.
But it was silent inside the apartment. With the storm raging outside, the lights were out. The TV was off. Everything was silent. There only sound from inside the apartment would be the cat waking up from its nap. But outside the apartment.  Behind the door? Beyond the window? That was another story.
On the other side of the wet cold sheet of glass, rain was falling. It was so thick that it seemed like a wall of rain. No knife could be sharp enough to cut through it. The rain sounded like the beat of drums hitting the concrete tiles. There should have been faint sounds of splashes of the water as the rain drops hit the pool.
Even as I strained my ears listening for that simple sound, I heard none. It couldn’t be heard.
The sound went on for ever. I hugged my knees closed my eyes listening to the sound of the rain outside. There was also the knocking on the door to my place. I had to put wooden chair up under the handle and hoped that it would stay shut. I would cover my ears in an attempt to block it all out. All the banging and knocking was driving me crazy. I was safe in my silent cozy area, but everything horrible was trying to get in. It was like I was trapped inside a phone booth with a small army trying to break in with nothing but sticks and stones. Constantly banging and knocking to get in.
‘Every thing’s fine,’ I tell my self. ‘After all of this, things will been the same as they were before.’
But I didn’t want to believe my self. I refused to. The man on the other side of the door was sick. He wasn’t right.
Then came the wind. It howled. It sounded like a scream. The high pitched noise reminded me of something, I didn’t want to remember. Something I wanted to forget.
I wiped away my tears. I had to be stronger. I couldn’t be a baby through this. I then turn my eyes toward the glass. I pressed my hand against the moisture covered window, and wiped it clear. I could see the neon sign that said, “Welcome to Palm’s Inn.” It sat the top of a pole. It was barely visible. The lit sign was only a faint glow through the rain. Then it was gone a second later. The wind blew it away. The wind was blowing everything away. The hurricane was getting worse by the minute. A bit of tile hit the glass. The glass cracked across the window beneath my hand. I pulled it away. Blood was pouring from the slice on my palm.
The news always says during hurricane a person should stay inside. Stay inside where it’s safe and stay away from the windows. But then again that holds true, only when what’s inside is more dangerous than what is outside. The window was my escape if worse to the worse.
The knocking and banging were soon drowned out. The wind was getting a stronger. The scream had turned into a high pitch never ending whistle that drowned out any thing else entirely.
I should have moved away form the window. That would have been the smart thing to do. But I couldn’t. I was captivated by what I saw. Because I saw something. I squinted my eyes and brought my face close to the glass. There was a shadow of something moving in the pool. But even though I could see it, I couldn’t tell what it was.
A piece broke away. The piece of it was carried by the wind. It hit the glass. I looked up at it to fund a sudden fear rush through.
I fell off of the seat onto the carpet. I looked at what was something otherworldly. It first looked like a piece of vine. But it started growing, splitting stretching across the glass in a series of tentacles. And it didn’t stop growing.
I swallowed. What the hell is happening to this place?
Learn more about what is really happening in the novel Palm’s Inn by Samie Foster. Available at Lelue’s Realm. Google it or go directly to

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